39. For a Few Days Nothing Happens

For a few days, nothing happens. The Chief calls me frequently to find out if I have heard anything from Tonya, to which the answer is always no. Walter reported that the Ritz returned from his meeting with the Chief in a black mood and has barely spoken to anyone while he is in the office. When Walter, with Don Ingram’s encouragement, asked Ritz if something was upsetting him, Ritz responded with a look that so terrified Walter, he became certain the Ritz somehow had figured out Walt had turned. For a day or two, Cornish was even talking out loud about being charged and entering custody immediately, but the agents settled him down, reminding him he would undercut himself by reducing the value of his cooperation.

Then on Friday a little before six a.m., my phone starts blowing up, rattling on my night table like there’s something live inside. Just as I grab it, the screen darkens with a call from Toy.

“Turn on 4,” she says. “Right now.”

On the local TV, there is one of those nighttime scenes of dark figures teeming under the glare of several spotlights. I slowly take in that I am looking at people in blue windbreakers with the letters FBI on the back. The reporter on the scene says they are executing a search warrant at Vojczek Management, although no one is commenting on the purpose of the raid. I consider walking down there to watch from behind the police tape, but the news comes in so fast on various feeds, especially Twitter, that I never get out the door. Two other warrants are also being executed right now, one at VVM and the other at Ritz’s penthouse across the river.

Eventually, I go down to the office to hang out with Rik, while the story continues to build. There is one local cable news station, and Rik and I do virtually nothing except stare at the screen. Every time we get ready to go back to work, the anchors break in breathlessly. First, there are unconfirmed reports that at least eight individuals are in federal custody. Then half an hour later one of those under arrest is identified as Secondo DeGrassi.

At noon, the biggest news breaks. Mona Thayer on Channel 4 announces, “WKCO-TV has confirmed that a federal arrest warrant has been issued for billionaire real estate developer Moritz Vojczek, who is reportedly still at large.”

The Chief, who has called a couple times, phones again now, absolutely exultant. “Justice!” she shouts to Rik, loud enough for me to hear across his desk.

I check the website for the federal district court across the river, but none of the documents related to the searches or the arrests have been posted yet. I volunteer to go down and stand around to scan them when the papers are filed, which has to be soon.

As it turns out, my timing is perfect. After half an hour in the courthouse, I have made digital images of about two inches of records, including the criminal complaints against Ritz and Sid and several other people. The arrestees include the van driver—the delivery dude who’s been running drugs and chemicals to and from VVM—two other nighttime employees of the company, and the three cleaners. I also pick up the inventories on the three search warrants, which hit the file while I am still scanning the last of the other documents.

As I’m about to leave the courthouse, I see reporters flowing in. One of them, Hanka Something, who I kind of know, tells me that the people who were arrested in the early morning are about to be arraigned.

The defendants appear before the chief judge here, Sonia Klonsky, in the grand Ceremonial Courtroom. The judge is a good friend of both Pops and my Aunt Marta, and she seems to flick a tight smile my way when she sees me in the gallery.

The eight men shuffle in, all in orange jumpsuits and handcuffs. I know from my years working for Pops that this is an otherworldly day for each of these guys, who, like all criminal defendants, did what they did because they’d convinced themselves they would never get caught. But now they have. And the charges against them are heavy: conspiracy to manufacture a Schedule II controlled substance, to wit, carfentanil, which carries a ten-year mandatory minimum sentence. The only chance to do less time is to, in the lingo, barf it all up and tell the Feds everything they want to know. Each of the lawyers—most from the Federal Defenders Office—informs the judge that his defendant is cooperating with the government. The attorneys announce this as part of their pitch for bail. No one gets bond, however, since the conspiracy charge carries a presumption against pretrial release. Sid DeGrassi takes this hard and is shaking with tears as the marshals herd the men back to the lockup.

Returning to Highland Isle, Rik tells me that the Chief is dying to get a look at the complaint the government filed against Ritz, which makes factual allegations to support the charges against Vojczek. As soon as I’m back in the office, I print out the document. Nothing is likely to please Lucy more than seeing the heading that spreads across the first page: United States of America versus Moritz L. Vojczek, beside a listing of the criminal statutes he violated. I run the papers over to the Central Station, where the Chief is literally waiting at the door. She takes them with one hand and uses the other to hug me.

Then I head back to the office to sit down with Rik while we both finally get a chance to read the complaint. Like the other defendants, the Ritz has been charged with conspiracy to manufacture carfentanil, but also with possession of controlled substances. When I look through the return on the search warrant, I see that among the items inventoried from both Ritz’s home and office are “diabetic injection pens believed to have been repurposed and containing a controlled substance.”

“Like the pens they used on Blanco?” I ask.

“Sure sounds like it,” says Rik.

The lab, according to the complaint against Ritz, quickly confirmed that the pens contained carfentanil, leading to the possession charge.

I can also now understand what the Feds were waiting for, which was to see if the conversation between the Chief and the Ritz provided more evidence of the Ritz’s connection to VVM. And it did. Once the Chief told the Ritz that the Feds were trying to source the carfentanil that killed Blanco, the twice-weekly nighttime van runs from the facility ceased immediately. The delivery guy, picked up by the Feds at his home, told the agents he had been instructed that they were going to lay off deliveries for at least a month due to ‘possible heat.’ One of the three chemists—the supposed cleaners—had a similar story. Ritz will claim that’s merely coincidental and someone else could have gotten word about the Feds’ suspicions. But that won’t explain why he has automatic syringes containing the same stuff made in that factory in both his office and apartment.

“Notice anything missing from the complaint?” Rik asks me.

I’m stumped.

“No charges for the murder of a federal witness,” he says.

“You think they’re not going to charge him?” I find myself on the verge of outrage, and Rik smiles.

“No,” says Rik. “They’ll definitely charge him. They’re just waiting.”

“For what?”

“Well, for one thing, they’ll want to do the spectrometry and other tests to confirm that the carfentanil at Ritz’s house has the exact same chemical structure as the carfentanil that killed Blanco. That will do a lot to put Ritz in on the murder.

“But,” says Rik, “my best guess is that the main reason for not bringing those charges yet is that Moses and Feld haven’t given up hope of finally using Walter to record Ritz. If the G can arrest Ritz and hold him without bond, he’s going to go into withdrawal. After a couple of days strung out, Ritz may be a lot less careful in what he says when Walter shows up at the MCC for a visit.” The Metropolitan Correctional Center is the federal jail.

“And why haven’t they arrested Ritz yet?”

“It sounds like they can’t find him. Ritz probably went into hiding as soon as he heard about the search warrants.”

“He has to own a hundred places in the area where he can stay out of sight. But do you think he’s going to flee the country or something?”

“Not impossible,” says Rik, “but he’d have to leave a lot behind. Best guess is that Junior,” Rik says, referring to Melvin Tooley Jr., the pond creature who will likely represent Vojczek, “is going to call the US Attorney’s Office soon to arrange Ritz’s surrender. Having the FBI and the US Marshals hunting for you is an uncomfortable experience.”

Rik picks up his phone off his desk.

“Right now,” he says, “I need to call Lucy and get her permission to give a tip to a few reporter friends.”

Because Moses and Feld are keeping Walter on the down low, the complaint gives the Chief the starring role, making several references to the Ritz’s meeting on Tuesday morning with an unnamed ‘Cooperating Witness.’ Rik is guessing that by contrast the affidavit Don Ingram swore out before a federal magistrate judge in order to get the search warrants for Ritz’s home and office made free use of information from Walter. Ritz and his lawyer won’t see that affidavit until after Vojczek is indicted and Walter’s role is revealed. But the complaint is public now. Due to Feld’s crafty drafting, it leaves the impression that the main case the government has on Ritz stems from VVM. Without ever saying so, the complaint suggests that the FBI searched Ritz’s properties, looking for additional evidence of Vojczek’s connection to Vox VetMeds, and just stumbled on the injection pens loaded with carfentanil. The Chief, therefore, appears to be the principal actor in bringing Ritz to justice.

After Rik checks in with Lucy, he calls two different courthouse reporters he’s on good terms with. I sit in his office to listen. Rik says he wants to provide information as an anonymous source concerning the bust of Moritz Vojczek. Both journalists are quick to agree.

“I can confirm for you,” Rik says, speaking to the first of them, Stew Dubinsky, “that the ‘Cooperating Witness’ mentioned in the Vojczek complaint is my client, the Highland Isle Police Chief, Lucia Gomez-Barrera. Just like the brave cop she’s always been, Lucy put her life at risk to do this. She was completely unarmed, while Ritz had all his heavies a few feet away and probably was carrying himself. But what’s going to come out, when you hear the recordings of that conversation, is that all the trouble the Chief’s had recently, these lurid bogus charges against her, were part of Vojczek’s plot to get rid of her as Chief, so he could install someone else who would allow him to run his drug operation out of VVM.” Rik nods vigorously as he listens to Stew Dubinsky’s response. “You bet,” says Rik. “It’s a great story.”

When Rik finishes the second call, he points a finger at me.

“Big props to you, Pinky,” Rik says. “This is going down just the way you figured. Amity and Moses will be giving the Chief a medal on TV by the end of the week. And Lucy will lead the local news for days.”

“You know how it is, Boss. Once a year I get an idea that’s not completely wacky.”

“No, no,” he says. “This was brilliant. You gave Lucy a real chance to save her career.”

Whenever I receive any compliment, I experience a confused rush of feelings and Rik’s praise brings on an extreme case so that right now I can barely breathe or move. I mutter “Thanks” to Rik and escape his office as fast as I can.

  

By nightfall, there is no further news about Ritz. Toy asks if she can stop by and she shows up about eight. I offer her a beer, but she says she has to work.

“On this case?” I ask.

“Yeah, Melvin Junior called Moses late this afternoon saying his client was willing to surrender, but only if Moses will agree to bail.”

“Bail? When all the guys down the chain are in the cooler? Ritz is just desperate not to go into withdrawal.”

“Agreed. But Junior is actually playing that card. Says he wants to get Ritz into a drug treatment program.”

“Is Junior stalling just to give Ritz a chance to get away?”

“Could be. But hearing it thirdhand, it sounds like Moses played hardball with Junior. He reminded him, lawyer or not, that you get indicted for helping somebody flee prosecution.” Melvin Tooley Jr. is in practice with his father, who is mostly in Florida these days. His father, Mel Senior, is, as Rik likes to say, so crooked that when he dies they will have to screw him into the ground. Melvin Junior is less oily but no more honest. You could fill an amphitheater with the prosecutors who’d love to bring charges against either one of them.

“Moses still thinks Ritz will end up turning himself in,” Tonya says. “Moses and Junior are supposed to talk again tomorrow. But just to be on the safe side, we’re covering all the points of departure. Train station, bus. The airport.”

“I don’t see the Ritz on a bus or a train,” I say.

“Not his style?”

“Definitely not his style. But there are too many stops where law enforcement can board and search, and a long ride increases the chance that the other passengers will see something on their phones and maybe recognize him. I don’t think the airport is much better, with Ritz’s picture everywhere today.”

“We sent it to TSA, in case they don’t read the papers. And there’s a brick on Ritz’s passport.”

“If Ritz runs, he’ll probably drive, won’t he? Go over the border. Mexico, I’d bet.”

“Border patrol and ICE have the same photographs. And it’s like what you said about a bus or the train. Driving gives the Bureau time to identify the car he’s in and put out an APB.”

“Sounds like if he takes off, Ritz would need a disguise and a phony passport. I’ll tell you the truth. If I made bank like Ritz, I’d charter a jet. There’s less security out at Greenwood.”

“My colleagues don’t think so. Since 9/11, CBP”—Customs and Border Protection—“keep pretty tight surveillance on private flights, what with the drug dealers and terrorists. A pilot who doesn’t file an accurate passenger manifest at least an hour before he takes off can lose his license. CBP has got a tight eye on those lists now. Anything suspicious, like a pilot they’ve warned in the past, they’ll sprint out there. And there’s a Greenwood County deputy stationed there at all times who can hold the fort until they arrive.

“Net-net,” she says, “Ritz is taking a big chance if he runs. The US Attorney would tie up every penny he has here, millions and millions, all his bank accounts and property, to secure the forfeiture of drug proceeds the government will ask for. That’s why Moses thinks Vojczek will surrender.”

I shrug. I don’t really know the Ritz, but nothing I’ve heard about him fits with the word ‘surrender.’

“I’ll say one thing,” Toy adds. “Everybody in the Bureau is happy they cut that deal with your guy. The Chief was a knockout, but getting Ritz to stick all that gear in his pocket is why the recordings are so good, especially with the white noise extracted.” Tonya kind of peeks up at me. “How was that for you?”

“What?”

“Seeing Joe Kwok again or whatever his name really is?”

It’s a sign of where Tonya and I are as friends that I decide not to be evasive.

“Complicated,” I say.

“Did you guys hang out?”

“We talked for a while. But you know, deep down I never believed he was The One, because basically I’m still not sure I want that. That was always a big thing between me and you back in the day, because you were looking for a full commitment and to me that’s always felt like shackles.”

She lets that pass, but it has to be comforting to her that even a dozen years later, I have the same hang-ups that came between us.

“But he was maybe a little closer to being the right person?” she asks, which is kind of a brave question.

“Maybe,” I say. I’m liking the honesty of this conversation, getting down to a level we haven’t quite reached before.

“What was it that appealed?”

“He’s a grown-up. Very centered. And a real cool person. And calm. I totally liked that he’s super interesting without trying to be. I’m not sure, maybe people want to link up with someone they’ll never be. He’s definitely not like me. And vice versa. But I guess the best thing was that he was really into that, how different I am. And that felt great.”

“So that’s what you want? A guy like that?”

“Or a woman,” I add. It’s kind of ironic, but I sometimes think Tonya has almost as much trouble imagining my yearnings as her parents do imagining hers. “I mean, who knows? What’s the line? ‘The heart wants what it wants.’ Only it doesn’t send out bulletins. You just have to keep living to figure out what that is. Like you and your college girl. Who knew? Right?”

“Right.”

“That still going?”

“Definitely. Wanna meet her sometime?”

“Totally. I’m sure she’s very cool.”

We’re still talking about Tonya’s girlfriend when she gets a call. It has to be someone in the Bureau, because she looks hard at the phone and says she has to take it. She uses the bathroom to talk and is in there for a while. She’s grim when she emerges.

“When Walter got home to his apartment today,” she says, “he found a burner phone in his mailbox.”

“From Ritz?”

“Just listen. Now that all these stories broke about Lucy being a government witness, Walter got a one-sentence voice message about an hour ago.”

“Saying?”

“‘I’m going to kill that cunt.’”

“Nice,” I say. “Do they think that’s serious?”

“Well, nobody knows. You’ve got to warn the Chief for sure. But Ingram and Feld think that maybe Ritz’s main goal is to test Walter, see if he’s blabbing. Ritz will ask whoever his guy is in the Central Station to give him the word if Lucy suddenly has bodyguards. That will be the tell that Walter’s talking.”

“Meaning the Chief is supposed to protect herself? That’s a little fucked. I thought the FBI always takes care of its witnesses.”

“No, they definitely want her to have armed protection. Just do our best to keep the Ritz from realizing she’s being covered. They’re wondering if you’d look after her. Nobody would think twice at this point about you being with her. And I’d come at night and trade shifts with you, so you could get some sleep.”

I completely spark to the idea. That’s an old fantasy of mine, going back to when I was a kid, being the person to keep somebody safe.

“There’s only one problem,” I tell Tonya. “Lucy likes her space. She’ll never agree to this.”